Dear Jeeves
by Lydia E. Nheers
Summary: Bertie decides to keep a diary of unsent letters to Jeeves, for whom he has been harboring the more tender emotions. Jeeves was never meant to read them, but as we all know, accidents happen...


**AN: I do not own Jeeves and Wooster and the characters within. They are the property of author PG Wodehouse and the Granada production company. I hope you enjoy it!**

Bertie left the stationary shop with a leather bound notebook in under one arm and his umbrella tucked under the other. It had looked like it might rain, but if he didn't go and buy this now, he would never work up the courage. Luckily, he hadn't needed the umbrella as the rainclouds had retained their water for the time being.

He made his way back to the flat, heart racing in his chest. It was an empty notebook, plain and unadorned with any sort of decoration. But every uniformed bobbie he passed on the way back, he swore could see right through his eyes and fully understand what the notebook would be used for. Of course, each moment of panic would die down when they would merely touch their helmet and say hello as he passed.

Finally, Bertie made it inside and after putting his hat, coat and umbrella away, grabbing a pen from the writing desk in his sitting room, and then mixing himself a stiff drink, went straight for his bedroom. It was Jeeves' evening off, so he wasn't in. Probably at the Junior Ganymede, or something. That was precisely why Bertie had decided to complete this particular errand now. He placed the drink at his bedside table, removed his shoes and waistcoat so he was more comfortable and sat on his bed, leaning on the headboard. He reached over and took a few gulps of his brandy and soda and put the glass down with a slight tremor in his hand. Finally, he took a steadying breath and opened the notebook, wrote May 8th 1924 on the top of the first page and positioned his pen over the first line.

He was at a complete loss about what to say now.

When he approached Bingo Little earlier that afternoon and told him about how he was in love with a filly who was already married and couldn't possibly return his affections, Bingo was sympathetic to his plight and suggested he write everything down in a series of letters to her that he would never send. "That way, you get everything out and you can move on. Confess everything to your sweetheart and then when all your feelings have passed, and then you'll be able to concentrate on finding another woman to display the tender pash to." He had said before taking a large sip of his martini.

At first, the idea had sounded like utter rot and he wasn't shy about telling Bingo just that. Mr. Little merely chuckled and said it was his wife's wheeze, but it apparently worked for a heroine in one of her books. But after proper consideration of the matter, Bertie decided to try it. After all, if it worked in a book, there was no reason why it shouldn't work now.

The difficult part was trying to figure out what to say. All the things he had in his head had sounded absolutely corking and fruity in his head, but when he tried to phrase it properly, he was stuck. Finally he took another breath (and another large swallow of his drink) and began:

_Dear Jeeves:_

_I know you won't be reading this or any other letter I write down, but I'm supposed to pretend that you will read this. That way, I can say everything I want to say and won't have to be afraid of being found out by the police. Or having you leave. Which is the infinitely worse option. What I mean to say is well…I am an invert, Jeeves. I have been my whole life and I don't think I can possibly change now. Though, I wish I could. Because that's not the only secret this Wooster has been keeping from his valet. The biggest and most damning is that I am…well, dash it Jeeves, I'm hopelessly in love with you. There. I said it. I love you. I love you. I love you. I can't possibly write more now, as I just heard you enter the flat, and now you're heading this way. More to come._

_Love, Bertie_

Bertie slammed his notebook shut and panicked. He hadn't figured out where to hide the blasted notebook! He finally jammed it under a loose floorboard under his bed that he had been meaning to have Jeeves fix and then tossed his pen into the bedside table drawer just as there was a gentle knock on the door. Bertie got up and opened it to reveal Jeeves on the other side. "I was just about to retire sir, if you won't be requiring my services." He said respectfully.

"Oh no, Jeeves. This is your evening off after all. I'll be going to catch the forty winks soon myself, what?

Jeeves looked at Bertie's wide eyes and flushed face. "Are you quite well, sir?"

"Me? Oh yes! I'm fine, positively corking! Just tired, that's all." Bertie babbled.

Jeeves indicated empty glass on Bertie's bedside table with a small nod of his head and a fractionally raised eyebrow. "Shall I take this then for you, sir?" He entered and took the glass back to the door.

"Yes, thank you. Erm…goodnight Jeeves."

"Goodnight sir." Jeeves shimmered out of the bedroom. Just before he closed the door, Bertie heard the sink quickly turn on and off and then Jeeves' bedroom door shut.

Bertie flopped down onto his bed and ran a hand through his hair. He had very nearly been caught! A slight moan escaped him when he thought of just how bad that would have been. But despite that…he felt better. Like a bit of the weight he had been holding onto for months had been lifted.

Maybe Rosie's idea wasn't so much rot after all.

_Dear Jeeves:_

_I saw you shimmering from task to task today. Please forgive me if you caught me staring. It's just that you look so wonderful when it's just the two of us here in the flat. It feels like home when you're here and I'm here. As much as I love seeing the chaps at The Drones or playing a round of golf or something, it just feels…homey when it's just the two of us. When you're biffing around the flat, dusting this or that and I'm playing the piano, or reading a book. There's a certain…thingness to it. It almost feels like a family, in its small way. It would be perfect though, if you joined me on the chesterfield, lit up a cigarette and read your improving books with my feet in your lap. _

_Love, Bertie_

_Dear Jeeves:_

_Do you often watch the sunrise, Jeeves? I awakened early this morning for a drink of water (I am full of surprises, it looks like) and I saw you standing in the sitting room, looking out the window. You didn't hear me behind you, which is so unlike you. But your face was so rapt and absorbed in what you were looking at. You're beautiful, Jeeves. Much more so than the bally sun. The colours were nice, but I couldn't help but stare at you. The shadows played across your face and I could see you smiling from behind. Your shoulders were relaxed and you looked so wonderfully at peace. I wanted to come up behind you and hold you from behind, burying my face in your shoulder and share that moment with you. Instead, I rushed back to bed before you could turn around and catch me. But if I could do that, I would wake up early every morning. Well, maybe not every morning. But most mornings. _

_Love, Bertie_

_Dear Jeeves:_

_I'm lying in my bed and I cannot sleep. I turn over on my side and look at the empty side and I feel so lonely. Do you ever feel lonely, Jeeves? I want you so much that it hurts. It hurts me deep inside and there are moments where I feel the ache like it really happened. I love you so much, you know. You saved me the other day from yet another blasted woman wanting to marry me, and all I want to do is grab ahold of you and say to everyone; "I LOVE HIM, BLAST IT! And I only want to marry him, and even though that's impossible, have a fish slice anyway, because I'm not traipsing into the sunset with anyone else." But I can't. I understand that you can never love me, Jeeves. You…the paragon of men. Stalwart and true. You have a brain that overflows with intelligence and you don't even need to eat fish to do it. How could you possibly ever love silly old, mentally negligible Bertram? You, who are so beautiful with your bronzed and fit body could never love skinny, big nosed, pale, noodly appendaged me. (Even if you were an invert, of course. But you're much too good for that.) Oh Jeeves…I wish so, so much that you could possibly love me back. The nights are the hardest part, I think. During the day, I can distract myself with the Drones or with whatever silly adventure I'm on, but at night…at night when it's dark and I have no one here but me, I feel so sad sometimes. I think that the thing I want the most from you is for you to hold me in your arms while I fall asleep. I can only imagine what you smell like, and how your large arms feel, enveloping my body; safe and warm. Those thoughts fill these silly little nighttime daydreams I have before I sleep. Then, when I realize (yet again) it will never happen; it's like a whole week's worth of time with Aunt Agatha, compressed in a single moment. Then I also realize (yet again) what would happen if you did discover my feelings for you. I know my man well enough to know that you probably wouldn't call the police; you're much too feudal for that. But, I would lose you before I even got a moment in your embrace. You would leave, being the soul of propriety that you are. And that's why you must never know, and that's why I must keep writing these bally letters to you, that I will never send. Just know that I am content as things are. I just…_

_Oh dash it all, Jeeves. I hope you don't mind the page being a little wet. (Not that you will ever actually read this missive anyway.) I think I'll stop now, as I have a fist in my mouth (better to block out noise, you see.) and I'm dashed uncomfortable._

_Love, Bertie_

_Dear Jeeves:_

_Thank you for destroying those hideous yellow gloves. I bought them specifically to rile you up. It's such fun for me, to see a glimmer of feeling from you. I know it's beastly of me to on purpose start a row with you, but please understand that it's easier to know that I can get under your skin even in a bad way, rather than feeling that you are completely indifferent to me. My aunt Agatha used to say that I would bask in any kind of attention, even if it was negative. I suppose there's some truth in that. If our little disagreements about my choices in ties and spats are the only way I can catch a small piece of you behind the façade you put on, I'm sorry, but I have no other choice. I particularly love that little twitch your eyebrow does when you're annoyed. Oh, and please feel free to get rid of the checked tie. I hate it too, though admitting it aloud to you is much less fun._

_Love, Bertie_

_Dear Jeeves:_

_When I saw you in the kitchen earlier wearing nothing but your shirtsleeves, polishing the silver, please know it was not indigestion that made me beat a hasty retreat to my bedroom. It was seeing you sitting there with polish on your hands and waistcoat removed that drove me mad with desire for you. I immediately pulled at myself until I came into a handkerchief, praying you didn't hear me. I want you in all the ways a man wants a woman. (Or another man, as I cannot be the only invert in the world.) I dream about your body late at night. My smaller one wrapped around yours and riding you like a complete wanton. I want your supple and pliant fingers playing over my whole body. I want your tongue to explore every bit of the Wooster corpus until you finally lave at my aching member with the very tongue that you use to quote poetry and Shakespeare until I come off in your mouth. Would you swallow it all? I know I would for you. I often wonder what your fluid tastes like, and I ache to find out. I want you to take me, Jeeves. I want your strong, capable body to use mine like it's your own personal plaything. I would, you know. I would do anything that you ask of me. Anything. Say the word, and one Bertram Wilberforce Wooster will be revved and ready to go. Lord, I'm shaking like the dickens, just writing all this. I am also pulling myself off quite furiously with my left hand, as I use my right hand to write with. I'm pretending it's your hand right now. Although, I'm sure yours wouldn't be so ungainly and awkward. But it helps. Oh lord Jeeves…it feels amazing to think of you so much while doing this. I can only imagine what you sound like! What you feel like! Oh I want you! _

_I have just come off quite violently and need to clean up before you get back from the market. Just know that you drive me wild, old thing._

_Love, Bertie_

_Dear Jeeves:_

_Your smile is quite beautiful, you know. That little tiny glimmer of one you occasionally bestow on me is more precious than anything else in the entire world. I love that it only comes out when I've done something you find particularly amusing. Like a private gift that I truly have earned. I quite like that. I hope that I can make you smile like that often. I try to be silly and make my friends smile and laugh, but those smiles are rot compared to yours. Your small smile is worth more than ten thousand of Gussie Fink-Nottle's or Tuppy Glossop's, or Bingo Little's biggest grins. Please don't stop smiling, Jeeves. I'd be lost without it._

_Love, Bertie_

_Dear Jeeves:_

_It's Christmas day today. I love Christmas, as you know. The cold weather (sometimes snow!) and the giving of gifts and singing Christmas carols…it all feels so Dickens-y you know? I think my __favourite__ part is when you opened your gift from me. Your eyes lit up when you saw it was that new psychology book (Kiregard? Kireggard? You know the chap I'm talking about) you had been eyeing in the bookshop for the last few months, but never bought because it was expensive. I had hoped you wouldn't buy it for a long while because I had reserved it, and I didn't want you to find out. Then I had to figure out where to hide the bally thing. It came to me when I figured out that I could have them gift wrap it for me at the shop, and then I could hide it __amongst __the other gifts in my wardrobe without a label until Christmas morning, that way you didn't know it was for you. The apparent skullduggery worked because you didn't suspect a thing! Did you really believe for an instant that I would listen to you and take the book back? It was a present, Jeeves. And I know you will love it and read it again and again. And I'll admit, there is a bit of satisfaction in pulling the Jeevsian leg. I don't get to do it nearly often enough._

_Love, Bertie_

_Dear Jeeves:_

_At first, this letter writing business seemed to be just the ticket for me to get over my feelings for you. After each letter, I put the notebook away and continue about my life, feeling a bit better. But now I'm starting to see that I will never be able to get rid of all of them. You're a tough chap to get over it seems. A sensible man would say "Well then, you silly ass! Just remove yourself from the problem!" I can't do that, you see. As much as it hurts to have you so close, knowing you can never feel the same for me, it still would hurt more to have you leave my side. So I will not say anything. I will keep writing these letters and releasing the hurt I feel into them, until it inevitably builds up again and I must pen another. _

_I'm selfish that way, my love. Even if it hurts me, I cannot bear for you to leave. You don't deserve to be trapped with a wicked pervert in your midst day after day. I know that, and yet I still can't leave you. If I were a stronger man, I'd release you, find another valet (inferior of course. No one can match you in valet-ing.) and probably retire to some sort of cottage in the country and live out my days alone. But to be without you near me, would be like not being able to breathe: I would die without you, love. Well that just sounds soppy, but it's true. _

_Please…I just hope you know that in the years you have been with me, you have brought me more good things than I could ever hope for. If you let me, I will spend every day making you as happy as you've made me. You deserve at least that much, old thing. _

_Love, Bertie_

These were just a fraction of the letters that Bertie penned to Jeeves in those subsequent months. He wouldn't write every day, or even every time Jeeves was out on his weekly night off, but whenever the mood struck. Sometimes late at night, or even early in the morning before even Jeeves was awake. Some letters were short, some were long, but all were equally full of love for his valet. He felt better when writing these. Though he knew that Jeeves would never read them, it still felt good to unburden his soul to a completely nonjudgmental audience.

Nearly a year after he began writing these letters, when he reached the last page of his third notebook, he put it away in the usual hiding place, and decided to pop off to the store for another. Jeeves was in the flat, doing some chores, but he could just tell him that he was going for an afternoon snifter at the Drones and would be back later. Jeeves had seen him to the door and helped him with his coat before handing him his walking stick and wishing him a pleasant afternoon.

After buying his notebook, he realized that an afternoon snifter was a marvelous idea and stopped off at the club on his way back.

Bertie arrived back at the flat about three hours after leaving, after having a marvelous luncheon and martini with both Tuppy and Barmy, and then several rounds of dinner roll cricket. The afternoon was a sunny and cool one in mid-April, the air was fresh and breezy and the clouds had the perfect amount of fluffiness, which ensured a pleasant journey home and a Bertram Wooster who was completely content with the world.

The flat was still and quiet when he entered. "I say, Jeeves?" He called into the empty sitting room. "Jeeves? Are you home?" He shrugged when no answer was forthcoming and took off his coat and put away his stick. Jeeves must have ankled down to the market to do a little shopping while the young master was out of the way.

He had just lit a cigarette and was making his way to his bedroom to do a little writing when he noticed through the crack in his door a very familiar shape sitting on his bed, engrossed in a book. _His _book. It was evident he didn't even hear him entering the flat.

"Jeeves!" He cried upon entering the room. His valet startled into a standing position and put the notebook down where it joined the other two on the bed.

"Sir. Sir, I am so sorry for my unforgivable lapse. It will never happen again." He said taking a step forward.

"That's…that's…" Bertie pointed to the notebooks sitting on the bed, his mouth falling open as it all sunk in. Jeeves knew all. He was done. Ruined. It was all over. Jeeves was going to leave, and he would never see him again. And he could even possibly go to prison. He could feel his face heating. "That…I…" he turned on his heel and positively fled the room.

"Wait! Sir, please wait!" Jeeves hurried after him, but Bertie slammed the front door and was gone.

In the sitting room, Jeeves stood stock still and put his face in his hands.

Bertie ran and ran until he felt like he just couldn't go anymore. He found himself in the park and he took advantage of the bench next to him by collapsing into it, putting his head in his hands. Tears threatened, but he wiped them away impatiently. He may have been found out, but he still had his dignity (for now anyway), dash it!

'How had Jeeves even found them, anyway?!' Bertie sat on his bench, berating himself with that one thought swirling around his mind over and over. He was always so careful about putting the floorboard back in the perfect position before leaving his bedroom. He was humiliated. Jeeves. His paragon. His rock and anchor now knew all the disgusting things he had been thinking about. Oh god, he knew about the sexual fantasies too. The thought made his cheeks turn crimson and his insides clench with embarrassment. After a long while, Bertie stood and surveyed his options. He could either A: Go back to the flat, confront Jeeves and hope he doesn't call the police before shimmering out of his life for good. B: Run away to Fiji. Or C: Go to the Drones and get tight as an owl.

Twenty minutes later found him sitting at the bar at his club, stiff drink in hand. The room was mostly empty, but a few gentlemen were playing badminton and he could hear the billiards table in the other room being used. He was deep into his glass and no closer to figuring out what to do upon leaving this place when he was interrupted from his ruminations.

"Bertie, old man!" The unmistakable voice of Bingo Little sounded behind him. He clapped his shoulder good naturedly and took a seat next to him. "How are you, old fruit?"

"Just fine." Bertie answered, turning to him and smiling as well as he could.

Bingo turned to the barmaid and ordered a whisky and soda for himself and one for Bertie. "That's the biggest load of rot I've ever heard, Wooster. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Nothing." He replied with an airy wave of his cigarette and nodded his thanks when the drinks were put down in front of them.

"If I know my Bertie Wooster, that is the face of a man who is decidedly not fine." Bingo retorted before lighting up a gasper. "What is it? Is your aunt in town?"

"No, nothing like that." Bertie took a deep swallow of his new drink. "If it's all the same to you, I'd really rather not discuss it. The sit. and the circs. are dashed convoluted. I know it makes me a bally awful person to sit next to," he found himself saying before he could stop it. "But I would appreciate it if you stayed."

"Alright then." Little replied and took a drink.

They sat together as the room filled around them, the lads coming about for supper and then to pass the time before toddling home to bed. Bertie drank and Bingo smoked in silence. He decidedly kept his wits about him, so he could provide a listening ear if Bertie should need one. Also, Rosie tends to hate it when he comes home after imbibing too much.

A darts game happened behind them and Bingo half-heartedly asked if Bertie wanted to play, earning only a tired headshake and a large sip of his drink. It was evident to Mr. Little that Bertie was truly depressed about something. If clobbering old Tuppy at darts couldn't shake him out of it, it was serious.

After it had grown quite dark, and the room had grown still, Bertie emptied what was probably his tenth or eleventh glass of the night and stood on shaky pins. "I…I /need to use the facilities." He swayed visibly on his feet.

"Alright Bertie." Bingo slid off his stool and took him by the elbow. "Just over here" He indicated the way.

"I can dashed well…make it on my own!" He cried and nearly fell against his friend. "I need to get used to it anyway." He said softly and sadly.

"Get used to what?" Little asked as they began to slowly walk to the loo.

"Being alone." He answered, stumbling into the adjacent room. He had just enough wits about him to be able to use the toilet without help and then stagger back out where Bingo was waiting by the door.

"I need another." Bertie slurred.

"No, old thing. I think you've had quite enough." Bingo answered softly, yet firmly.

"I'll tell you when I've had bally well enough!" He exclaimed, nearly striking the other man in the face, trying to gesticulate.

"Bertie, you must tell me what the matter is. I've never seen you like this." Little ducked and then led him to another room that housed the pool where Tuppy had allowed Bertie to fall in, wearing full evening costume. It was completely empty, as there wasn't an event or party happening that evening. He sat Wooster down in a chair near the pool, then brought another over to face his and sat down in front of him. "Please tell me. I'm your friend, you know. You can tell me anything. Lord knows, I owe you for all the scrapes you and Jeeves…"

At the word 'Jeeves'; Bertie lowered his head into his hands and let out a howl of pure misery.

"Bertie!" He exclaimed. "Bertie…what's happened to Jeeves? Did he leave? What's going on?"

"He…and…I...notebook." was all Bingo could discern from the drunken sobbing that was going on in front of him at the moment. Finally, it dawned on him. He smiled a little, realizing he had been right about that niggling, private thought he had about how he doubted that there was any such married woman in Bertie's life. He had seen the way Wooster looked at his man when he thought no one was looking. 'The fathead.' Bingo thought fondly and waited for the storm to pass. And when Bertie stopped crying, he took him by the shoulder.

"Bertie…the filly you told me about a year ago. The married one. That was Jeeves all along, wasn't it?"

"Yes!" He cried. A faraway part of his brain that was still thinking rationally was screaming at him to stuff it! To stop talking, damn it! But he couldn't stop once he started.

"I did what you said! I wrote letters to him, and…and he…" he scrubbed at his face which was still leaking.

"Did he find the notebooks?" Bingo prompted.

"Yes, dash it!"

"And did he reject you?"

"What?"

"Did he actually say he didn't love you back?"

"Well…no. I didn't give him much of a chance. I had to make my escape, you see." He hiccupped and wiped his eyes again.

"Well, how do you know he wouldn't love you back?"

"Because…he's _Jeeves._ Of course he wouldn't love me back." Bertie looked at him like he was cuckoo. He paused for a long moment, and began to speak again.

"He's…wonderful, Bingo." He smiled in spite of himself in that easy way only intoxicated people can. "He's strong and silent and absolutely beautiful. Especially when he smiles."

"Eh?" Bingo raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You mean, Jeeves can actually smile?" He loved seeing that soppy, lovesick expression on Bertie's face. It must mirror exactly how his own face looked when he beheld his beloved Rosie for the first time. Although, he recalled being a lot less leaky at the time, and his hair was probably neater and his trousers were probably buttoned correctly. But that look in Wooster's eye was unmistakable. The old boy had it bad. This was the real tabasco all right.

"Of course Jeeves can smile. He does this little…twitch thing with his upper lip. In a sort of spasm. But it's more in the eye. I don't know of anyone else that can pull it off, but he can make his eyes show what he feels more than his actual face does." He stopped talking again and his drunk brain finally got wind of what the little sober bit of him had been trying to tell him.

"Wait…how are you okay with this? You do realize that it means I'm an invert, right?"

"Yes. Of course." Bingo responded and lit up another cigarette. "I didn't believe you were secretly seeing a married woman for a single moment. I've known you since our school days, Bertie, and I know that you never cared much for the fairer sex. And that's just fine by me. Though…you're a terrible liar. And while I didn't exactly know it was Jeeves that had caught your affections all along, it just makes the thing much more romantic!" He sighed wistfully and took a drag from his gasper. "A secret love and romance. How wonderful!"

"Not so secret anymore though." Bertie reminded him and lit up a cigarette of his own.

"Oh yes." He had forgotten. "What do you intend to do about it? You can't stay here forever."

"I suppose not. I will need a change of clothes eventually, what?"

"And a bath. You smell of whisky."

"That too. And my rubber duck is at home." He scrubbed his face with his hand. "I don't know what to do, dash it."

"Well, I suggest you go home, get some sleep and then see what happens in the morning."

"Can't I stay with you and your good wife?" he whined.

"Nothing doing." He clapped Bertie on the arm. "You need to solve this on your own, I'm afraid."

"I suppose." Bertie stood suddenly, swaying a bit. "I'm a Wooster, dash it! I'm a man, not a blasted mouse! I'm going to go home, look at my man and say 'I bally well love you, and if you can't accept it, then well…pooh!"

"That's the spirit, Wooster!" Bingo stood with him and accidentally jostled him a little, which caused him to fall back into his chair. "How about you sleep first? You're still a bit under the surface, it seems." He hauled him back to his feet.

He walked with him the few blocks to Berkley mansions wished him good luck at the door before taking his leave. The night doorman; a youngish man with black hair named Thomas merely fought the urge to sigh and roll his eyes, before opening the door for him with a polite "Goodnight, Mr. Wooster."

Bertie made his way slowly up the stairs and fumbled for his key to open his flat. Then realized he was at the wrong flat and needed to go down the hall a bit more. Finally, he made it to his own and opened the door.

Jeeves was at the door before the key could finish turning in the lock. "Oh sir." He said under his breath, taking in the site of his master in front of him. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair was flyaway. His eyes were puffy and red. His trousers were buttoned incorrectly and he smelled of very strong whisky. He regained his professional air immediately. "Sir, if you would allow me to lead you to bed…" he made to touch his elbow to guide him down the hall when his employer rounded on him.

"I bally well don't need you to lead me to bed! I can find the way on my own, thank you very much!" He shook off the helpful hand and began lumbering in the direction of the master bedroom. Jeeves followed closely to make sure he didn't get hurt, or break anything of value, which in his present inebriated state was likely.

"I can make it on my own!" Bertie snapped angrily at him. Then he let himself drop onto his bed to fumble at his shoe. "I know you're just waiting to…to hand me your letter of resignation, Jeeves. You've probably got your belongings all packed." He finally kicked the blasted shoe off and it landed a few inches away from Jeeves' foot.

He crossed the room in two strides and knelt in front of him. Before Bertie could protest, Jeeves was untying his other shoe and removing it gently. "I will not be resigning, sir." He said quietly. "My place is here, at your side sir, and nothing…" a resounding snore sounded from above his head interrupted. He stood and looked down at him, passed out flat on his back with his mouth wide open. "…will persuade me otherwise."

He quickly divested his employer of his wrinkled, messy clothes and was about to put him into his nightwear when he realized that when his master awakened the next morning, he may not appreciate having been seen nude by his valet with this unresolved tension between them. So he left him in his underthings and positioned him on his pillow on his side. He never woke, and Jeeves had to fight the urge to brush the errant hair off his master's forehead. However, no matter what most people think, he was not made of stone, and allowed himself to watch his employer sleep a moment before forcing himself to go to the door. "Goodnight, sir." Jeeves whispered and left the room, clicking the light off behind him and closing the door softly.

When Bertie awakened at ten the following morning, his head pounded sickly behind his eyes. Without opening his eyes, he knew he was in his underclothes, lying in bed. He had no recollection past leaving The Drones. The patchy memory of that poolside talk with Bingo hit him all at once and made him groan aloud. At least Bingo could be trusted to keep his secret. He wasn't like the meanspirited Tuppy that allowed him to take a dip into the pool in evening dress. Little was a good cove, and Bertie knew he would keep his secret.

He opened his eyes blearily and looked around. His clothes were gone, so he figured that Jeeves must have bunged him into bed. Speaking of Jeeves, in two ticks, the man himself was in the room, carrying a tray with a glass of the restorative he always gives the young master after a late evening. "Good morning, sir." He said in his extra-quiet morning voice and handed him the glass.

He mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a greeting and downed the spicy, reddish liquid in two swallows. After it kicked in, he was able to smack his lips and say "Good morning" properly. Bertie handed the glass back and regarded him for a few moments. This was dashed awkward and he needed to say _something. _But what it was, he had no idea.

Jeeves excused himself and left the room, only to return in a brief moment with another tray, bearing a cup of tea and a plate of eggs, toast and bacon. In a second, the tray was across his knees and Bertie was picking up his teacup. Finally, he had to break the ice. "Jeeves. About yesterday…" He began.

"Sir," He interrupted, standing with his eyes cast to the floor. "It was unforgivable of me to read your private writings. It was a complete breach of your privacy, sir. I saw the loose floorboard when I saw your pen on the floor whilst dusting. When I went to fix the problem, I saw the notebooks and assumed they were merely additions to your next serial, which I've been editing." He looked at the floor briefly as if steeling himself for the next sentence, which he delivered in his usual demeanour. "I sincerely apologize and hope that you do not dismiss me, though you are completely within your rights to do so."

"No, Jeeves." Bertie responded. "I'm not going to dismiss you. I can only hope that you don't…leave." The last word was added in a whisper and he closed his eyes, to prevent any more leaking from the ocular region. He would not be a cissy in front of Jeeves. Not for anything in the world. "I'm sorry that you had to find out this way, but please don't go." The sound of something hitting the metal tray in front of him was the only response. He opened his eyes to find a cream coloured envelope sitting next to the plate. It looked hefty and it only bore the word "Sir" on the outside in Jeeves' neat, elegant hand.

"If you will sir, please regard that after you've eaten and feel up to the task. It should, sir, shed a little light on the situation. And with that, Jeeves shimmered silently out of the room.

Bertie's hand shook and he dropped the piece of toast he had forgotten he was still holding. He picked up the envelope and put it back down, heart beating quickly. Was this his letter of resignation? It must be. Well, if Jeeves was leaving his service, then the least Bertie could do was take his time with his breakfast before tackling it. So he ate every bite slowly and deliberately, chewing and swallowing with care. This might be the last time he ever tasted Jeeves' toothsome cooking, and he wanted to savour it. Even though it all tasted like nothing anyway.

When the breakfast was complete and the tea was finished, he moved everything to the side and with trembling fingers picked up the envelope again. Then set it down. Then picked it up. Then set it back down. Finally, he picked it up again and opened it, taking out the pages and letting the envelope flutter down onto the duvet. He was right about one thing. It was definitely a letter.

_My dear, beautiful, brave, silent, wonderful employer:_

_When I found your unsent and beautiful missives to me, I cannot help but having felt a deep sense of joy at the discovery. I read them all with speed and I admit to you now, when you left the flat earlier, I read them all again twice over. How can any humble words I write, possibly be a comparable response to the beautiful and wonderful words you wrote to me? I doubt I will ever be able to adequately express my feelings, but because you were so brave in writing them all down, I must explain to you, my own feelings._

_I love you, sir. I have loved you from almost the very moment I stepped across your threshold for the first time those years ago. You looked at me with your startlingly clear, blue eyes and that's when I knew that you attracted me. And then when you played the piano for the first time in my presence, that's when I knew that my heart too, was ensnared._

_I have always known of my inverted nature, but it took me a long time to come to terms with my more tender emotions regarding you, sir. I knew I loved you, but never having indulged in more tender emotions, and to have succumbed so quickly, was most alarming. However, after a few months in your employ, I understood completely. You see sir; I realized it when I was on my annual holiday, in Spain. (Please forgive my impropriety now, sir, but it is necessary for you to know this.) It had been my long standing custom to indulge in more carnal activities while away. That year, I simply had no interest. That first night, alone in my small, rented cottage, I knew. It was either you or nothing at all for me. And I was completely content to stand by your side, sir. As long as you would have me near you, I was happy and would follow you to the ends of the earth to ensure your happiness. _

_Can you imagine then, my love, the icy chill that would fill me when you would become engaged to some woman of your acquaintance? The jealousy that would consume me? The fear I felt deep inside my chest? The ache that would permeate my entire being? Oh sir, in those moments when it looked like I would lose you for good…I admit to being extra zealous in my attempts to "fish you out of the soup" as it were. My reasoning was not at all altruistic, as you would believe. I could not stand the idea of another kissing your lips, running their hands through your fair hair, whispering sweet words of love to you in the dark. Making love to you…making you breakfast the way you like, keeping the flat spotless for you. These thoughts would fill me with a certain rage, sir._

_I admit to feeling so lonely at night as well, sir. I lie in my bed and want you next to me so badly, it feels like a physical ache, deep inside me. I admit that I wept when I read that specific letter from you. That you could feel so sad and lonely for me, when I was two rooms away feeling the exact same way, is utterly unforgivable of me. I am so sorry, sir, that you had to suffer this way in silence, and alone for so long. _

_And as far as your desires for the physical are concerned, sir, allow me to admit this to you now. I lay awake at night, imagining your face and your body next to me in bed. I imagine your voice as you cry out for me when we would make love. I wonder about all the particular scents that make you up, and I wish to catalogue them all. I want to know every single cell of you, sir. I want to memorize the beating of your heart and feel it in steady accompaniment to my own. I want to hear you moaning, sir. I want to feel you writhing against me. I want to feel you come off deep inside my body, using me as your plaything. I want to hear your delirious cries of joy and complete abandonment! But more than that, sir…I want to hold you in my arms afterwards. I want you to fall asleep in your valet's arms, knowing that you are completely safe and I will protect you from all that seek to harm you._

_Because I will, sir. I will always keep you safe. I will always be here to guide and protect you. I will always make sure that you're warm and happy. You are the most important person in my life, Bertram Wooster. (I do hope you do not take offense at my liberties, sir.) and I desperately want you to know that. _

_I only wish I could have brought you even a modicum of comfort in your times of loneliness and sadness. You are by the way, so wonderfully full of light and beauty and joy that it breaks my heart for you to think yourself unworthy of my love. Oh sir…you are worth a thousand of me, and I know that my own love is a mere pittance compared to what you feel for me. But just know that I love you with my whole being, sir, and I always will. You are perfectly within your rights to dismiss me. What I did, reading your private notebooks like a peeping schoolboy was completely unforgivable. But even if you do dismiss me, I will remain silently in love with you, and will remain so for the rest of my life._

_It's you or nothing._

_All my love, _

_Reginald Jeeves._

Bertie finished reading the letter and dropped the pages in shock. Tears were pouring down his cheeks and hitting his neck. He wiped them away and sniffed loudly. Jeeves…his Jeeves wrote him something so beautiful, and so completely unexpected. What should he do? Go out into the sitting room? Stay here? He brought the letter to his face. It smelled vaguely of Jeeves' spicy aftershave, and that, weirdly enough; decided it for him.

He stood up and positively ran to the door, throwing it open. He could hear it crash into the doorjamb next to him. "Jeeves!" Bertie called out. He was standing on the other side of the sitting room, near the window, staring at the floor. "Jeeves…" He whispered and stood in front of him, breathing hard and eyes wide open. He was trembling, and had no idea.

Jeeves looked up and said "Sir…" His voice cracked if you could possibly believe it.

In a heartbeat, they both rushed at each other and met in the middle in a crushing embrace. "Jeeves…oh Jeeves…" Bertie said over and over again as his valet pressed kiss after kiss into his hair.

"Sir…" Jeeves replied, still kissing him. Bertie could feel the word rumbling from deep inside his chest and if a tear or two was wrung from him, then he could scarcely be blamed.

"Jeeves. I love you so much. I have loved you…for so dashed long."

"I know sir, I know now." He replied and held on the tighter. Bertie buried his nose into Jeeves' shoulder and inhaled. All at once, he smelled all the beautiful things that made him up. The brilliantine he used, the cedar of his wardrobe, the vestiges of his morning cup of coffee and toothpaste and cologne and all the thousands of other unidentifiable things that formed his man.

Finally, they broke apart, both swaying on their feet a little. Bertie looked up and met Jeeves' soul windows. They were dark blue and wide and filled with more emotion than he had ever seen. That look was worth more than a thousand "I love you's". It contained all of the love he had felt but never allowed himself to show for so long. "Jeeves." He whispered again and cupped his cheek.

Jeeves brought his forehead down to press lightly against his master's and held his arms loosely around his middle. "Sir." He whispered in reply. After what seemed to be ages of breathing each other's hair, the older man leaned in to kiss him when Bertie suddenly broke away.

"Sir?" Jeeves' eyebrow rose fractionally and the granite look returned to his proud face once again. "I thought you understood my feelings and reciprocated them." His eyes were almost reproachful and solemn.

"I do, old thing. Everything you give me, I give back to you in spades, if you couldn't tell from those notebooks of mine. It's just that I imbibed most awfully last night, ate breakfast this morning, and haven't had a chance to bathe or brush my teeth yet. I don't need our first kiss…our first…everything to be marred by a smelly Wooster." He chuckled a little and his cheeks flushed wildly.

Jeeves' lip twitched in his version of a smile and took his chin between his fingers. "I don't care. I want you just like this. I want this memory of you to be permanently etched into my mind, sir. I want to always remember this day, sir. This very moment." He leaned in once again and kissed him.

Bertie's eyes closed and he just allowed Jeeves to lead the kiss. It was slow and exploratory, a nuzzle of top and bottom lip before Jeeves' tongue gently urged the young master's mouth open and the kiss deepened naturally. One of Jeeves' arms went around Bertie's waist and the other hand cupped his cheek, brushing it with his fingers.

'This must be what a jelly feels like', Bertie mused to himself as he suddenly forgot how to stand. His knees shook and Jeeves, sensing what was happening in his employer, gently shifted them and sat him down on the chesterfield without breaking the kiss. Finally, they broke for air and Bertie regarded him, chest heaving like the dickens. "Good lord, Jeeves. Is kissing always so…so..?"

"I admit to finding the activity equally stimulating, sir." Jeeves replied and tucked an unruly curl of Bertie's hair behind his ear.

Bertie hardly knew what to do with himself. He wanted to simultaneously throw his arms around him, hold his hand, and kiss him over and over until the end of forever. He contented himself with leaning in and kissing his cheek. For the first time in this whole business, Jeeves blushed. He raised a hand and rubbed the spot his employer kissed. "Sir." He mumbled, his cheeks going a rather fetching shade of pink.

"Jeeves." Bertie grinned from ear to ear. "Jeeves, I do believe you're blushing."

"It does seem to be quite warm in here, sir." He replied, trying to regain his best stuffed-frog look, and failing miserably, as he was beginning to smile too.

Unable to control himself, Bertie threw his arms around Jeeves' broad shoulders and kissed him all over his face. Cheeks, nose, temple, forehead, lips, chin. Anywhere he could reach was prime real estate for planting loud smackers on. "I love you so much." He murmured into his man's warm skin, before continuing his assault. His valet merely sat, absorbing all the kisses with a small, dignified, yet pleased smile. Finally, Bertie stopped.

"Jeeves, can we climb into my bed and hold each other forever now?" Jeeves stood up and held his wide, steady hand out for Bertie to take in his smaller, slightly trembling one.

"I believe I can arrange that, sir."

_Fin_


End file.
